You're In My Veins
by behind veils and trench coats
Summary: "Normal" means a slightly different thing to Hermione Granger than to most people. Even then, war and destruction and prison escapees were not supposed to be part of the bargain. Character driven, lots of friendships. Eventually SBHG.


**A/N:** It's here. The very long, very convoluted fic I've been planning for the past few months is actually, _finally_ here. Wait while I shed a tear. Anyhow. This is, quite obviously, a story that's going to feature Sirius and Hermione in a romantic light eventually. However, we have a _long_ way to go before that happy day comes – not until Hermione is of age, to begin with, and not until I've tortured them built them up a bit.

Other noteworthy points: no character bashing of any kind will be found here. Even the characters I'm not a fan of have full-fledged personalities, and I'll do my best to respect that. Also: Harry and Ron will be very much present in this story, as important characters on their own right and as Hermione's best friends. I might not ship the traditional pairings, but I have mad love for the trio's friendship, and that involves every combination of it. So if you hate Harry or Ron, you probably won't enjoy this story.

Updates will probably happen once a week, twice a week if I'm very busy (and sadly, that's more likely to happen than not). I love reviews – then again, who doesn't – and I welcome constructive criticism of every kind. Hint: "this pairing's way creepy" does not constitute as constructive, it just makes me wonder why you clicked on a story that was specifically listed under the category of a ship you dislike.

Anyway. Essay over. Please make yourself comfortable, seize chocolate and take a deep breath. Now read. And review (pleaaase?).

**Disclaimer:** The fantastic world presented in this story (and the entire dialogue in the cave) belongs to J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury, as well as to all the lucky people who hold some sort of right over _Harry Potter_. I'm sad to inform you that I am not one of them. Pretend to be surprised, will you? The grammar accuracy belongs to my lovely beta Betty. The mistakes are mine.

* * *

It was looking to be a very long day.

Hermione stroked Buckbeak's neck and forced herself to relax. Just because she was tired and sweaty and grumpy didn't mean she had the right to snap at her best friends. Not _now_, anyway, when one of them was just seeing his recently-acquired, on-the-run godfather for the first time in months, and _especially_ not when said godfather was a crucial part of keeping aforementioned friend from dying.

She took a deep breath and ordered herself to remain calm, regardless of how exasperating and utterly ridiculous the current topic of conversation was.

"Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"

"It's possible," Sirius said.

Honestly. What was _wrong_ with people? "Winky didn't steal that wand!"

"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," Sirius clarified. "Who else was sitting behind you?"

Hermione listened while Harry and Ron listed names, going through her own mental records in the meantime. A few ministers…. The Malfoys… Who else?

"There was Ludo Bagman," she mentioned, satisfied when Sirius' eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I don't know anything about Bagman, except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps. What's he like?"

She half-listened to Harry's description of Bagman as she tried to remember more details. What had he… Oh!

"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," She turned to Harry and Ron. "Remember?"

"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" Ron said. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."

"How d'you know? How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"

Ron looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Come off it. Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"

She wasn't saying _that_, exactly, but… "It's more likely he did it than Winky."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Told you," he said to Sirius. "Told you she's obsessed with house-". But Sirius cut him off before Hermione had a chance to retort indignantly.

"When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"

"Went to look in the bushes," Harry said, "but there wasn't anyone else there."

"Of course," Sirius muttered, looking deep in thought, "of course he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf… and then he sacked her?"

So much for keeping calm, Hermione thought, feeling the familiar anger already bubbling up inside her. "Yes, he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled-"

"Hermione, _will_ you give it a rest with the elf!" said Ron exasperatedly.

She huffed irritably. _Why_ didn't anyone see it was a matter of principles? House-elves had feelings, too! Just because they weren't human it didn't mean it was okay to treat them like _slaves_. Honestly. What could be expected of a man who mistreated a house-elf? Certainly not more consideration towards other people-

Sirius' voice cut her musings short. And knocked her off balance for the remainder of the visit. "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."

Shock spread across her like a well-cast Imperius. She looked at Sirius as if she were seeing him for the first time, gratitude taking over her entire body. _Finally_ somebody _got it_. Somebody who had been through a lot, a fully grown adult who didn't think she was being an unbearably patronizing swot over the whole deal. Somebody who respected the elves.

Somebody who respected _her_.

Her responding grin was promptly wiped off her face when Sirius told them he had never been granted a trial, but the dizzy feeling in the pit of her stomach lasted until well after the descent down the mountain.

* * *

"We better head back to the castle," Ron said, checking his watch. "Dinner will be served in a couple of hours."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "I just wish Sirius could have a real dinner too, y'know? Did you see him up there, when he saw what we had with us? He was starved."

"Yeah, mate, we saw," Ron replied, then cringed. "He must be really anxious about the task if he's willing to live off rats."

Hermione nodded. "He's far too thin," she mused aloud, "If only we could bring him real food more often than once a month, I'm sure he'd get better in no time."

"Fat chance," said Harry gloomily. "He made us promise, remember?"

"Well, yes, but…" She trailed off, thinking hard. The boys _had_ promised they wouldn't be sneaking out of class to see him, true, but _she_ had promised nothing of the sort. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to skip History of Magic and…

Her eyes widened. Had she really just considered skipping lessons and sneaking out of Hogwarts? With the sole purpose of…

She stopped dead in her tracks, causing Ron to run straight into her.

"Oi! What's up with you?"

"Uh…Sorry. I just…" _Realised that I'm an idiot_. "I have to…" _Have a serious conversation with myself_ _right this moment_. "Why don't you…" _Leave me alone so I can borrow a leaf from Dobby's book and start banging my head against a wall?_

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, frowning. "You're a bit pale."

"I'm fine, really. Just a little dizzy. Must have spent too much time in that cave. It's still rather early; why don't you two go to the Three Broomsticks and get us a table, I'll be there in just a moment. I need some air."

Her friends were still eyeing her suspiciously, and Hermione had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. _Now_ they decided to be perceptive. Not when a madman was intent on killing Harry or when there was an idiotic, unethical reporter to stop. No. _Now_, when she was facing a rather uncomfortable epiphany of her own and wanted absolute solitude.

_Boys_.

"Really. _Go_," and because Ron looked like he was about to protest, she settled for an outright lie. "I think there's a special offer of sweets and Butterbeer today."

"Oh," Ron's suspicious scowl morphed into a wide grin. He elbowed Harry in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. "Let's go, mate. I'm starving."

* * *

Oh, no. No no no no. _No_. Absolutely not.

Hermione closed her eyes. Crushes were fine, really. Regardless of what Ron thought, she was a girl, as well as a teenager, and she had had her fair amount of crushes in the past. Including, she thought with a grimace, that pathetic infatuation on Lockhart. But she had been only 13 years old then and idiocy was more understandable when one had barely even hit puberty.

But _this_? This was insanity. Crushes were one thing. Crushes on men old enough to be one's father, who incidentally were also prison escapees and one's best friend's godfather were entirely another.

She didn't even have the excuse of being too young to know better this time- especially if, like she suspected, she was well past her fifteenth birthday and on her way to turning 16 in a couple of months, courtesy of the time-turner.

She shook her head fiercely. _Nevertheless_. She was digressing. Her. Going off tangent was not something Hermione Granger did- _ever_. This stupid crush was already messing with her brain cells and it wasn't even one day old.

Oh, God, what would Harry _say_ if he found out? He'd probably look at her in disgust and pull away from her. And why shouldn't he? She had a bloody crush on his godfather! And Sirius… Oh, he'd probably laugh so hard. Or maybe he'd even be kind to her. Treat her with kid gloves, pat her head… Oh, dear, that would be even worse.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, mortified beyond measure at the idea alone.

This wouldn't do, she told herself sternly. She was overreacting. There was no reason for either Harry _or_ Sirius to find out, not if she behaved normally around them. It shouldn't be so hard, should it? It wasn't as if this were the very first crush she'd had to conceal. She was a girl, having crushes was her prerogative. She would never act on her infatuation, and besides, she'd probably grow out of it within a couple of months. What was the big deal?

Hermione took a deep breath and squared her shoulders determinedly. Nothing had to change.

* * *

A lot _did_ change during the course of the following months, but Hermione's crush remained firmly under wraps. As a matter of fact, she found it extraordinarily easy, under the light of the other events of the year, to dismiss the tiny summersault in her stomach whenever Sirius' name came up. The revelation of Crouch's madness, his son's deceit, Cedric's death and You Know Who's return shed a lot of perspective on a great deal of things, her little infatuation included.

It was a relief to know that she was still in control of her sense of logic, silly crushes notwithstanding.

She could only hope that that didn't change once she was living under the same roof as he.

With a sigh, Hermione let herself fall on her newly packed trunk and pulled out the letter she'd gotten from Ron earlier that week.

_Hermione,_

_Mum said she'd write to your Mum and Dad to ask for permission, but Ginny keeps telling me you'd rather hear it from us. We'll be spending the rest of the holidays at, well, "a special place", they tell me to call it. I can't say much, but it's supposed to be really cool and Fred and George are going nuts with excitement. Mum says they're too young, but hey, you know how they are. Harry will meet us soon, and Snuffles will be with us, too._

_We'll pick you up on Sunday, so get your stuff ready. And for Merlin's sake, don't bring so many books this time. You could try Quidditch for once._

_See you soon,_

_Ron._

She snorted. Try Quidditch for once, indeed. Like _that_ was going to happen. Sobering slightly, Hermione scanned the contents of the letter one more time, her eyes quickly settling on the parts that struck her as worth a reread.

A 'special place'? And Sirius Black would be in it? That…. didn't bode well for her. It didn't bode well at all.

And too young for _what_, exactly?

Well, she thought wryly when the bell rung, she was about to find out.

* * *

"It's right here," Tonks whispered, pushing a piece of paper into her hand. "Read what it says, _silently_."

With a quirk of her mouth, Hermione obliged. She had deduced they would be taking her to some unplottable location, but why they would be staying there instead of at the Burrow, she had no clue. At least they had sent Professor Lupin along with the Auror named Tonks to pick her up. She had been rather taken aback at not seeing any of the Weasleys standing at her door, so Lupin's familiar face was a comfort. And besides, according to him, the Weasleys were all too busy putting the place in conditions for her arrival.

Hermione thought it'd take more than a visit from her to get all the Weasleys to put a place "in conditions", especially if Fred and George were involved, but she kept her mouth shut. It would be rude to point that out.

She unfolded the paper in her hand and, with a chill of foreboding, read the words written on it:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

She looked back at Tonks, surprised when nothing happened. "What…"

"Did you memorize it? Good," Lupin said once she'd nodded an affirmative. "Now think about what you just read."

Not quite knowing what to expect, Hermione did just that. She inhaled sharply when a battered house seemed to pop up out of nowhere, pushing numbers eleven and thirteen out of the way to make more room for itself. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was crumbling with decay, the painting of the door and the outer walls peeling slowly. It struck Hermione as a decomposed version of a Slytherin's dream house, serpent-shaped doorknob included.

"Come on," Tonks urged her up the steps and tapped her wand against the black door, casting what Hermione could only assume was an unlocking charm. She was ushered into the house quickly, carefully so as not to be seen by the neighbours.

"Welcome to Headquarters, Hermione," said Lupin once they were all inside. His voice was low and strained, something for which she found she could not at all blame him. The house felt like a funerary home, where everything had to be quiet and solemn.

She sneezed. Then again, funerary homes were a lot cleaner than this.

"Oh, Merlin, don't," Tonks moaned, pressing her fingers to her temple. "You'll wake her up."

"Who would I…" But she was silenced by the explosive shouting that came from behind a pair of black moth-eaten curtains, curtains that flew open to reveal the most realistic and unsettling portrait Hermione had ever seen.

It was an old woman, pale and thin to the point of gauntness, whose eyes spoke of madness and cruelty.

Her words spoke of madness and cruelty, too.

"_They're back! The half-breeds and the traitors and oh, they brought around the Mudblood!"_

"What…" Horrified, Hermione backed away abruptly and walked straight into Lupin's body. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, and the protection they offered, although decidedly welcome, did nothing to settle the frantic pounding of her heart.

"It's okay, Hermione. It's okay. She's just a portrait."

"_Just a portrait?"_ The woman howled. Hermione noticed vaguely that she was drooling. _"Out of my house! Out! OUT!"_

Lupin hurried forward and tried to jerk the curtains closed, but it was no easy feat with the woman still shrieking insults. There was a rush of footsteps and within seconds Mrs Weasley and Sirius had joined efforts with Lupin. Unfortunately, Sirius's appearance did nothing to calm the screeching woman in the frame.

"_You! How dare you bring even more filth into my fathers' house! Half-breeds and half-bloods weren't enough, you must bring Mudbloods too! Out of my house this instant!"_

"Shut up, you infernal woman! Shut UP!" And with a final tug, he finally yanked the curtains shut, drowning the rest of the screams out.

Hermione wasn't sure if she was still breathing and unconsciously raised a hand to her throat to check. Her heart was beating furiously against her ribs, and she could almost _feel_ the blood rushing from her face.

"What happened? Tonks, did you fall again?"

Tonks grinned. "Not this time, Molly."

"It was me, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said. Her voice was shaky, but she found there was not much she could do about it at the moment. "I sneezed and she, err… woke up."

"Hermione, dear," Molly stepped forward and enveloped her in an embrace. "Welcome to Headquarters. I'm sorry you had to face her so soon," she said, and although her tone was warm, the look she shot at Sirius was a different deal altogether. It seemed, Hermione thought, as though Mrs Weasley thought Sirius was somehow responsible for the portrait's doing.

She noticed his hands tightening into fists, but his next words were kind and soothing. "Hello, Hermione. It's good to see you. I'm sorry your first meeting with my mother went like this."

"Your _mother_?" Her tone was incredulous, and she wished she could bite her tongue as soon as the words had left her mouth. Sirius's jaw was drawn into a tight line, anger about his confrontation with that horrible woman and probably about the obvious tension between Mrs Weasley and him still evident on his face. "I… I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"My mother, yeah. We tried everything we could think of to pry her from the wall, but she must have used some sort of binding spell. Didn't trust me to want to keep her in the house, I guess."

Lupin grinned. "And she was right, wasn't she?"

"For the first and only time in her entire sorry excuse for an existence, she was."

"That's enough," Mrs Weasley said, flicking her wand at Hermione's trunk. "Hermione, let me show you your room. You'll be sharing the first one on the second floor with Ginny."

"Of course. Uh, it's nice to see you again, Professor, Sirius. Tonks, it was nice to meet you."

She walked up the stairs in a trance, too shocked by the unexpected welcome to notice that she'd overcome her first meeting with Sirius without so much as a blush.

Perhaps crazy Mrs Black was good for something, after all.


End file.
